


The Result of a Raid

by yourebrilliant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourebrilliant/pseuds/yourebrilliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'This is...<i>porn</i>' John stuttered 'About us.'  An interesting film turns up during a police raid</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Result of a Raid

‘Earl Grey tea, semi-skimmed milk, ginger nuts,’ Sherlock said, without opening his eyes. He was lying along the length of their couch, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

‘Almost,’ John admitted, smiling as Sherlock’s eyes shot open, and he swung himself upright.

‘Almost?’ he asked sharply, sighing as John handed him his tea. ‘Bourbons,’ he murmured, frowning at the biscuit lying on his saucer. ‘There’s always something.’

Before John could respond, they heard a heavy tread sound on the stairs and Sherlock’s eyes widened. ‘Lestrade,’ he breathed, seconds before the silver-haired inspector entered the room.

John frowned at the expression on Lestrade’s face. He was sheet-white, and nervous about something. ‘What is it?’ John asked, fearful of the sight that could make a hardened cop look like that.

‘There was a...raid, yesterday,’ Lestrade said, stepping forward into the room and leaning both hands on the back of John’s armchair. Sherlock had already set his tea down and risen from the couch. Lestrade reached into the pocket of his jacket and drew something out. ‘They found...this.’ He hesitated for a moment before holding out his hand.

Sherlock lunged across the coffee table, almost upsetting the tea cup and, snatching the item with unseemly haste before John could take hold of it. He turned it over in his hands, frowning as he tried to decipher its secrets. ‘Lestrade, what is this?’ he asked puzzled. ‘There’s no blood or...’ he tailed off as he caught sight of the front cover. ‘ _Shercock Bones_?’ he read, puzzled.

John’s eyes widened and he grabbed the DVD from Sherlock’s hands. ‘ _Being the adventures of Shercock Bones, Consulting Desextive, and his partner Doctor Hotson, assisted by DI Lestraddle_!’ he read, his voice increasingly incredulous.

Lestrade nodded, sighing harshly. ‘I was hoping I’d hallucinated that bit.’

‘This...this is _porn_ ,’ John stuttered.

‘What an excellent deduction, Doctor,’ Sherlock murmured, retrieving the case and flipping it open.

‘About _us_ ,’ John added. ‘Why... _how_?’

‘Clearly someone has been inspired by your blog,’ Sherlock drawled, managing to make the word sound even more perverted than the disc he held in his hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Lestrade asked, as Sherlock moved towards the television.

‘Watching it, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ John muttered.

‘Look at this cover,’ Sherlock said, thrusting the case at them, ‘matt paper, thicker than normal, probably printer paper. Picture’s slightly squint, you can see a thin white mark in the top left hand corner. And look at the disc,’ he said, tilting it towards them.

‘No image,’ John commented.

‘More than that,’ Sherlock said, pulling the disc back and crouching in front of the DVD player, ‘it’s re-writable. This is not _just_ porn, this is _amateur_ porn.’

There was a silence wherein Lestrade and John failed to understand the implications of Sherlock’s deduction. As they waited, Sherlock set the disc into the tray and watched as it slid into the machine.

‘So?’ John asked finally. ‘I mean, it’s brilliant that you figured that out,’ Sherlock smirked as he stood again, ‘but, why are we watching it?’

Sherlock sighed aggravatedly. ‘Amateur means it wasn’t filmed in a studio it was filmed in someone’s back room or garage or...shed. If I watch the film, I can figure out where it was filmed and the good inspector can go and stop them.’

‘Well, I’m not watching it,’ John said, turning away.

‘Yes you are,’ Sherlock retorted, scrounging amongst his papers in search of the remote.

‘No. I’m not.’

‘I need you to,’ Sherlock said intensely, leaning across the John’s armchair to catch his sleeve. ‘You might catch things I’d miss. Solar system, remember,’ he said, his gaze boring into John’s.

‘Fine,’ John said eventually, ‘but not sober. I’m getting some beer.’

‘I’ll...leave you to it, then,’ Lestrade said, awkwardly.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ John said quickly, shrugging into his jacket as he spoke. ‘You’re coming with me to get the beers, and then you’re suffering through this as well.’ Lestrade gazed at John in mute appeal, John shook his head. ‘If I have to sit through this, so do you.’

Lestrade sighed. ‘We’re gonna need a _lot_ of beer.’

 

_Some time, several beers, and half a curry later..._

 

‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Sherlock cried, throwing his hands up in disgust. ‘He's completely missed the significance of the earring!’ At some point he appeared to have entirely forgotten his plan in his consternation at his alter-ego’s perceived inadequacies.

‘I don’t think it’s her ears he’s interested in,’ Lestrade muttered, levering open another bottle of beer.

John giggled drunkenly. ‘Oooh,’ John and Lestrade winced in unison.

‘That can't be comfortable,’ Lestrade commented, leaning back into the cushions and taking a pull on his beer.

‘Comfortable?’ John retorted incredulously. ‘She's going to need stitches if they don't stop soon!’ Lestrade sputtered half his mouthful of beer down his front. ‘John!’ he cried in disgust.

‘That’s Doctor Hotson, to you Lestraddle,’ John responded. John and Lestrade slumped against each other laughing.

‘THE SHOES!’ Sherlock yelled, still disgusted by his character’s deductive failures. ‘LOOK AT THE SHOES!’

‘Yeah, alright, Sherlock, calm down,’ John began, patting Sherlock’s arm familiarly.

‘Eugh!’ Lestrade cried, drawing his attention back to the film.

‘What? Oh, yeah, right. That's...not attractive.’

Lestrade nodded emphatically. ‘Oh, Christ,’ Lestrade muttered, gesturing angrily at the screen with his beer, ‘that’s your conviction down the pan, you idiot.’

‘Talk about police brutality,’ Sherlock muttered archly.

John and Lestrade gaped at him in disturbed awe. Sherlock ignored them.

The strains of an instrumental version of _Bad Medicine_ resounded and Lestrade turned back to the screen. ‘Oh, looks like the good Doctor’s returned,’ he commented.

John rolled his eyes. ‘Is anyone eating this bhaji?

‘John, here, John,’ Lestrade said, tugging on John’s sleeve

‘What?’ John asked, popping the onion bhaji into his mouth and biting into it decisively.

‘Need your official opinion,’ Lestrade explained, gesturing towards the screen.

‘Oh, right,’ John peered at the screen. ‘Doctor rules...not physically possible.’

‘I _knew_ it!’ Lestrade nodded, happily.

‘Oh, this is just... _drivel_ ,’ Sherlock said, folding his arms angrily across his chest. ‘He’s not even trying.’

‘Give him a break,’ Lestrade said, grinning at him, ‘he’s a bit busy shagging all the witnesses-’

‘-and the suspects-’ John added.

‘-and Doctor Hotson,’ Lestrade finished.

‘Well, who wouldn’t,’ John said, gesturing to his thick, cable-knit jumper.

‘Time for the showdown,’ John pointed out. Suddenly both John and Lestrade leapt to their feet.

‘THAT’S NOT HOW YOU HOLD A GUN!’

‘Okay, he should have shot at _least_ one of his fingers off, holding the gun like that,’ John grumbled quietly. ‘ _And_ he’d have dislocated his shoulder from the recoil.’

‘Oh, look, he’s arrested the murderer,’ Lestrade commented cheerfully.

‘ _Finally_ ,’ Sherlock growled, lunging for the remote.

‘He’ll never make that conviction stick,’ Lestrade muttered, watching as Shercock and Hotson chatted amiably about all the sex they were going to have, and Lestraddle led the suspect away to his police car.

‘He was certainly sticking it to him, earlier,’ John commented. The two men bent forward with smothered laughter, clutching each other in drunken glee.

‘Ah! There!’ Sherlock said, half out of his chair as he peered at the credits paused on the screen. ‘Written by Dan Soren.’

‘It won’t be his real name, though, will it,’ Lestrade said. ‘’ll be an an’gram.’

‘Oh!’ Sherlock’s eyes widened, as realisation dawned. ‘I should have known! Something this shoddy, there’s only one person it could be.’

‘Who?’ John asked, befuddled by Sherlock’s sudden jump of deduction.

‘Him!’ Sherlock cried, pointing at the writer’s name on the screen. His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned as he hissed in a voice dripping with scorn, ‘ _Anderson_.’

x-posted to [](http://bbcsherlock.livejournal.com/profile)[**bbcsherlock**](http://bbcsherlock.livejournal.com/)


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